Jodi didn’t smile or laugh as she opened the door to me. She looked exhausted, a round ball of a person, lumbering on swollen feet. I remembered that feeling, and part of me felt guilty for imposing when she was so close to the birth. But another part needed to know what they knew. I needed to be with people who were there that night. It was Jodi who’d seen Karen stagger in at the same time I did, her hair and eyes wild and blood running down her thigh. Who’d found out at the same terrible moment I did. I had to find out what they’d seen, and hopefully, get something I could use in my plan. I was sure she’d rather not host me for dinner at such short notice, on a Wednesday night, but I’d essentially invited myself around all the same. Manners, social etiquette – just another thing that was out the window.

I hadn’t spoken to Jodi, bar a few texts, since they’d left on Sunday. Only three days ago! It felt like years, to the point I was surprised she was still pregnant, likely would be for another few weeks yet. I followed her into the house, which despite her advanced pregnancy was clean and smelled of a wood-smoke scented candle. Not a single cup or glass or book sat out of place. I noted the mosaic floor tiles, the polished wooden stairs with no backs. All beautiful, all stylish, but a death trap for a baby. I saw no signs of preparation as she led me through to the kitchen, no half-assembled cots or discarded cardboard packaging. It was hard to believe there’d be a squalling infant here soon, invading this tranquil, design-magazine home.

‘Sit down, Ali.’ It felt like an order, so I perched awkwardly on one of the stools by their breakfast bar. ‘Would you like some wine?’

Wine reminded me of that night, the sour taste in my mouth. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

She just nodded. ‘I made cassoulet, hope that’s OK.’

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have gone to any tr—’

‘It’s no trouble. They sent me home from work anyway. So, how are you? I’m sorry I’ve not been in touch. Work’s crazy, for both of us.’

‘Not good.’ I filled her in on the past week, surprising myself at the litany of horrors. Mike on trial, then Mike fighting for his life. The blood on Cassie’s top. Jake in a youth prison. The missing money. Then, the thing that Karen had told me, about their long affair. I said it tentatively, hoping she would rush in and deny it, tell me how absurd it was, that Mike could never do that for so long. Instead, she squeezed a tea towel and didn’t meet my gaze. ‘You knew?’